Mad Sounds
by FreeElves
Summary: (Not Gonna Write You a Love Song rewrite) Nora had big plans for Barden, but those slipped away before she even set foot on campus. When her bestfriend pushes her toward the Barden Bellas, she has to wonder if they are the answer to combating her insecurities and if she can afford having a Treble worming his way into her life. AUish
1. Welcome to Barden

**This is a bit of a rewrite of _Not Gonna Write You a Love Song_. The first two and a half chapters are roughly the same, but I did make some changes here and there.**

* * *

Summertime in Atlanta was nothing short of hellish. And even though summer was ending, the city still felt unbearably hot, at least to Nora, and the humidity only made it worse. That was the one of the things she hated about Georgia—the humidity. She brushed a strand of wavy dark hair out of her face and grudgingly stepped out of the air conditioned, beat-up, silver Civic. Wiping the sweat off her brow, her mother said, "Wow, what a lovely campus."

Although Nora had already seen and toured the campus many times, she found that she was still impressed by it. It had a somewhat prestigious feel, at least the older buildings did. Their brick walls inlaid with arches had moss growing in their cracks. The landscaping was also pretty nice and practical; the many trees provided some cooling shield against the sun. When it got cooler and less hellish, she might enjoy being outside in the daytime.

The beauty of the campus didn't make her smile, however. Her mother looked at her daughter, noticed the slight frown that had made a permanent residence on her face, and sighed. "You've been like this the whole drive over. Would it kill you to smile? I thought Barden was your dream school." She was growing exasperated with her daughter's negative behavior. Not even listening to the vast collection of musical soundtracks on the drive had lifted her daughter's spirits.

"It was," Nora replied, voice laced with hopelessness. She had been dreaming about Barden for several years, knowing this was the place she wanted to be. That dream ended abruptly when the Barden Symphony Orchestra sent her a letter over the summer, telling her, regretfully, that she could not be accepted into the orchestra at this time. It was a painful blow to her, and now Barden was looking a little less attractive right now.

"Oh, honey," her mother, said, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. "It's not the end of the world. There will be other opportunities. Not just in music, either."

Nora didn't miss the emphasis on that last sentence. Her mother only ever approved of music as a hobby.

A young man in a yellow polo approached them with a dolly and Nora and her mother started unloading the trunk. There wasn't _too_ much, she thought: a suitcase, some pillows, a box of miscellaneous things, a small TV and Xbox, and her violin, her most prized possession packed securely away in a black gig bag. (She didn't know why she decided to bring it, since she probably wasn't going to be using it all.) She felt a little bad, though, since this guy was going to be the one hauling it all the way to her dorm. She carried her laptop with her in her backpack, feeling more secure with it on her person.

A blonde woman approached with a green polo and a smile so wide Nora was expecting her face to crack like a mirror.

"Hello!" the blonde greeted, in a tone that matched her smile. "Welcome to Barden! What dorm?"

"She's in Laville," her mother answered quickly for her.

"Alright-y! So, what you're gonna do is go down the road…" she directed them with her hands as Nora zoned out, letting her gaze fall on the excited and/or worried faces around her.

"…And Laville is just to the left! It's a big old building; you can't miss it! If you get lost, Tom knows where it is." She pointed to the guy in the yellow polo that had helped them unpack. Nora felt a bit sorry for him; he did not look like he enjoyed his job at all. And, really, why would he?

Before leaving to find Laville Hall, the blonde provided Nora with a campus map and a certified BU rape whistle, advising her not to use it unless it was actually happening. Her mother was shocked at that statement, and asked, "How safe is this campus?"

They made their way to Laville Hall, and arrived after only a few minutes and only a couple directions from Tom, which he delivered in an exhausted and very miserable voice.

Nora's roommate had not arrived yet, giving her first dibs on which bed. The room was very bright, with white walls and cream-colored carpet, but nice.

As she unpacked, her mother looked at her worriedly.

"Are you sure you'll be okay?" she asked.

She sighed. "It's a little late to back out now," Nora said. "I'll be fine."

"I know. I just get worried about you. You just seem so lost now."

"Mom," she said, kicking her empty suitcase under the bed, "I'll get over it. I'm fine. See: happy." She plastered a smile on her face.

Her mother smiled softly. "Okay, sweetie. Remember, this is a chance to turn over a new leaf."

* * *

Her mother, regretfully, had to leave shortly after Nora had finished unpacking. She had to drive back home, and catch a plan to New York for a meeting. She kissed Nora good-bye, making her promise to call once a week, "at least", and asking again if Nora was sure she was going to be fine. After repeated assurances, she finally left.

Her roommate still had not arrived.

Rather than wait for their arrival, she decided to meet up with friend from high school. Her friend had texted her earlier his dorm and room number. After wandering around for a good ten minutes, she finally found it: Baker Hall. Getting in was easy enough; security was lax due to people still trying to move in. She found his room on the second floor.

She knocked a popular rhythm on his door, hoping that this was his room, so that some random guy didn't think she was a weirdo. She had enough of that already.

Sure enough, the door flew open and she was immediately enveloped in a tight hug, lifted off the ground, and twirled around. She demanded he put her down at once, trying to sound stern and annoyed, but she could not hide the genuine smile on her face.

"Nora!" he cried.

"Jesse!" she cried back.

He set her down, and allowed her to give him a proper hug. She was pretty short compared to him.

"How was your summer?" she asked.

"Pretty good. I went up to Minnesota to see family, which was nice. What about yours? How are you and Andrew doing?"

Her face fell a bit and she said, "We broke up over the summer."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

She shrugged. "Don't be. He was kind of a dick."

There was an awkward silence before Jesse coughed and introduced her to the other boy in the room, Benji, his roommate, who was quietly watching the encounter between the two friends.

He had a kind face and fluffy, curly blonde hair. What she noticed immediately after was his black magician's cape and the _Star Wars_ paraphernalia all over his side of the room.

"Wow," she commented. This level of fan boy was impressive.

"Do you like _Star Wars_?" Benji asked, hopefully.

"I'm more of a Trek fan, actually. I grew up on The Original Series."

He looked almost scandalized, like she had just said she hated puppies, or magic (which wasn't true). He seemed about ready to launch an ideological debate about the franchises, when Jesse, as much as he would have enjoyed a nerd fight—in which he would have sided with Benji, because, come on, _Star Wars_ had the superior music score—interrupted.

"So, there's an activities fair going on…"

* * *

Nora pocketed the flyer she grabbed from the Women's Rugby Club table. It was one of the first tables she past with Jesse and Benji, after walking by a group of frat boys who didn't have a very good grasp on grammar.

"Good idea." Jesse said. "You got a lot of pent-up aggression you need to release."

"That's what you're for," she replied and punched him in the arm. Not very hard, of course, but that didn't stop him from crying out.

"Ow!"

"You're such a baby. I didn't even hit you that hard."

"Don't befriend her, Benji; she uses you as a punching bag. I think you gave me a dead arm."

She ignored them and grabbed a flyer and a free cookie from the Food Enthusiasts Club. Her mood had definitely improved from early this afternoon after reuniting with Jesse.

"Follow me," Benji said. "There's only one group worth joining."

Benji led them to a group of about eight guys standing around a wall. One guy was sitting on a unicycle and lifting his shirt up, showing off his abs to passersby. The Indian guy had his eyes glued to his phone. Nora was confused, at first, since they didn't appear to be an actual club.

"_Whip it!"_ They burst into song. "_Wanna see you whip it…" _

"The Treblemakers," Benji sighed. "Now, this is what being a man is all about."

…_An a capella group…_ They were good, though, really good.

She heard the unmistakable sound of beatboxing coming from the Indian guy whose attention was still on his phone as he nodded his head and moved his shoulders to the beat. He was kind of attractive, Nora thought, in a completely hipster, pretty boy kind of way, with his thick-framed glasses and nice hair.

"Organized nerd singing," Jesse commented.

"Like you can talk," Nora said. "You were in musical theater."

Benji perked up at that, and asked Jesse, "How's your voice?"

Jesse nodded his head to the beat, and sang a short line of the song with them, "_We both are here to have the fun, so let it whip!"_ He had a good voice, one he had been training for a long time. There was a reason he got so many leads their high school musicals.

"Nice," Benji said in affirmation. He looked over to Nora, "Unfortunately, you can't join, for obvious reasons." He didn't look like he thought it was that unfortunate, though.

"Oh, it's okay," Jesse reassured him. "Nora's secretly a man."

"Well, now it's not a secret," she said.

The 'Treblemakers' finished their song. Nora winced when Unicycle took a football to the back of his head and fell face first into the concrete. A few guys went and helped him up while the lead singer, a short guy who appeared vaguely hobbit-ish, started criticizing one of his backups.

"When you came in and you were just strumming your guitar, and it was like totally off-key, I wanted to choke you!"

The beatboxer put his hand on the leader's shoulder. "Bumper," he said, trying to hold him back from further verbally attacking the other Treblemaker.

Benji put on his game face. "Alright, I'm going to introduce myself. Everybody be cool; it's just a normal day," he said to himself.

"Hi," Benji greeted. "Benjamin Applebaum. I saw you guys perform at a Mall of America three years ago. It totally changed my life. I have not stopped thinking about you since."

'Bumper' blinked and said, clearly uncomfortable, "Thank you."

_Well, that took a sharp turn into awkward._ Nora looked at Jesse, raising eyebrows, as if asking 'Should we intervene?' He merely gave her a shrug in response.

Nora had to hand it to Benji, though. She wouldn't have been able to scrape up enough courage to talk to a group of people she was obviously a fan of; even if the Treblemakers were just a college a capella group. She probably would have just stared awkwardly at them from a safe distance if she were in his shoes.

"And, Bumper," he said to the leader, "your arrangement of Love and Spoonful's 'Do You Believe in Magic' inspired me to become a certified illusionist." He performed a magic trick to demonstrate, pulling a red handkerchief out of nowhere.

"Wow," Nora said. She was getting a lot of second-hand embarrassment from Benji, but the boy didn't seem fazed by the unimpressed and uncomfortable looks he was getting from the Treblemakers.

"The smell of your weird is actually affecting my vocal cords, so I'm gonna have to ask you to scooch. Skedaddle," Bumper waved them off. "Not you, though," he said to Nora. "You're a girl, you can stay." A few of the guys made sounds of agreement.

"Uh. I'll pass," she said, feeling uncomfortable chills crawl up her spine at Bumper's leering. She crossed her arms over her chest.

"How 'bout we exchange e-mails, and totally hang out right now together?" Benji asked, trying to bounce back from the last rebuff.

Bumper shook his head rapidly. "No. Hard pass. Hard pass."

Jess put his arm around Benji and carefully guided him away from the Treblemakers. Nora followed. Benji seemed to be dazed and confused by the encounter, wondering what he did wrong. He ignored, or just didn't register, Bumper's "Nerd Alert!" followed by laughter from the Treblemakers. She looked back briefly to see the Treblemakers matching pitch. The beatboxer's attention was back on his phone, but he looked up at her from over his glasses, a little smile playing on his lips. She turned around, getting angry with herself when she felt a light blush reach her cheeks. It was too early to be letting a guy get her all flustered.

_This guy is probably a complete player. Don't even bother._

"Maybe I should have done another trick…" Benji said.

"The trick was fine," Jesse reassured him. "It's just the talking was weird. Maybe you can try to Facebook message him."

"I don't know. They kinda seem like arrogant assholes," Nora quipped.

Benji whipped around. "Don't say that! The Trebles are brilliant. Their arrangements are top notch, as is their choreography, and their harmonization is perfect. Did you know that they won the ICCAs six years in a row?"

She raised her hands defensively. "Alright. They're great performers." She didn't even know what the ICCAs were.

Benji sighed, dreamily, "What I'd give to be a member. You should audition with me, Jesse. They'll definitely take you in with your voice. You might even get solos."

Jesse seemed to be considering it, and then he asked, "Are there any other a capella groups on campus?"

Benji nodded. "There's the BU Harmonics, the High Notes, and the Barden Bellas, but they all pale in comparison to the Treblemakers."

Disregarding that last part, Jesse turned to Nora. "You should audition. Look, there's the Barden Bellas' booth." There were two girls, a redhead and a blonde, dressed to the nines, trying and failing to pass out flyers to students walking by. Despite their smiles, the girls seemed very distressed.

"Bad idea," Nora said. "You know how I do on stage."

She and Jesse had gone to the same high school, so he knew all about her love of music, but aversion to auditions. He was also the first person she told after she received her rejection letter from the Barden Symphony Orchestra. She had been all nerves up to, during, and after the audition, knowing she screwed up her audition so much that there was no way she was going to get in. The letter was just salt in the wounds. She had felt her dream slip away.

"You love music," he said. "This could be a way to get over it."

She shook her head in response. "It seems like a bad idea."

Jesse sighed. "You're overthinking things. All you need is practice."

There he went with the practice thing. It didn't matter how much she practiced. She still couldn't go up in front of a group of people and perform in front of them.

Jesse gave up trying to convince her to go up to the Bellas. She was too stubborn. They continued walking around the activities fair, surveying booths. Nora shot one last look at the two Bella girls.

* * *

Nora didn't return to her room until late that night, probably disturbing her roommate, who had finally arrived and was busy trying to sleep. She had spent the rest of the afternoon and most of the evening with Jesse. Like a good friend, he always had a knack for helping her take her mind off her problems.

Now that she was alone in her bed, her mind trailed back to the auditions.

She thought about the Bellas and what Jesse had said. Maybe she should give it a chance. She had been so discouraged by her last audition that didn't want to try again, but if she got in, then maybe that could give her the confidence to audition for the Orchestra again.

So, as she lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling, she remembered what her mother told her earlier that day. _This is a chance to change. This is a chance to try again, to not fuck up so badly._

She repeated the mantra in her head until she fell asleep.


	2. Clark Street Music

A week after the activities fair, she did some looking into the Barden Bellas, just out of curiosity, and found their Facebook page. Posted on the page were hundreds of pictures of the past members, all very gorgeous, very tall women whose faces made Nora's self-esteem plummet, and some videos of their performances. She watched a couple recent ones, which featured the exact same sets and choreography. She figured they were doing an '80s theme that year.

The page's wall was recently updated. One of the members, Chloe Beale, the redheaded girl from the activities fair, wrote:

"Auditions are Sept. 21 5pm at McCarthy rm 120! Any ladies that are interested in joining us should definitely come! We would love to see you there! :)"

The 21st was less than a month away on a Friday. She had class until three on Fridays.

She closed her laptop. No. She wasn't going to do it. She wouldn't be able to make it through the first bar of whatever song they chose for auditions. Her anxieties would ensure that.

* * *

Nora nearly dropped the giant cardboard box as she took it off the shelf. Luckily she didn't or Patrick would have had her head. She set it down as gently as possible on the concrete floor, exhaling loudly out of relief and exhaustion. _Last one_. She massaged her aching arms before pulling out a box cutter and slicing through the tape to reveal stacks of music books, CDs, and instructional DVDs. It was going to be her job to take inventory of it all and place them on the shelves outside. She turned up the radio on the ground next to her and sang quietly along to the music that flooded the storeroom. The radio brought some semblance of life to the room, which was all gray concrete, bright fluorescent lights and rickety metal shelves. She grabbed the clipboard hanging on a hook embedded in the wall and began checking the box's contents.

Over the summer, she applied for a position at the Clark Street Music Co., a music store and repair service located a few blocks from Barden's main gate. Three weeks into the job, and Patrick was still only letting her restock books and CDs. Sometimes she helped him with the cash register and computers, because he said he was 'technologically challenged'. He didn't allow her to touch the instruments or interact with customers apart from telling them where they could find the sheet music for _Yellow Submarine_ or _Easy Piano Hits_. He claimed that he needed to see it himself if she was qualified or not.

Understandable, she agreed, but how could she prove her qualifications if she was stuck stacking CDs all day?

"Nora!" Patrick called for her. She almost didn't hear him over Pink.

She stopped counting CDs and headed toward the front of the store. Patrick was assisting a customer, who by the looks of it was growing more and more impatient. The customer she recognized as the Treblemakers' beatboxer she saw over three weeks ago. Seeing him again so soon caught her by surprise; Barden wasn't exactly a small university.

"Nora," Patrick said as she stepped behind the counter next to him. He ran a hand over his blonde dreadlocks as he desperately searched the computer's files. "This guy says he brought in a keyboard last week. I can't find the repair order."

"Derek doesn't keep repair orders on the computer," she said. She walked around him to a filing cabinet. Derek had showed her all of this when she started working, expecting her to take on more jobs than Patrick had actually given her. She addressed the beatboxer, "What name is the order under?"

"It's under 'Donald'," he said curtly.

She flipped through the receipts and pulled one out. "For a Yamaha MM6?"

"That's the one."

She confirmed that the receipt said the repair was done, much to Donald's relief.

"Finally," he muttered.

Patrick took the order from Nora—she bit back a protest. "Okay, I'll go grab it for you." He headed toward the workshop, leaving her behind the counter.

She smiled apologetically. "Sorry about that."

"The management here has gotten pretty shitty lately," he commented.

"I wouldn't know. I just started working here a couple weeks ago." It was true, though; Patrick was a shitty manager.

Donald studied her face, eyes squinting behind his large hipster glasses. "You seem familiar," he said. "Have we met before?"

She was surprised that he seemed to recognize her, but rather than tell him that she saw him at the activities fair, she lied and said, "Probably not."

"No, I've definitely seen you before."

"Maybe just in passing," she suggested. "I go to Barden. You might have seen me around campus or something."

Donald snapped his fingers and grinned. "I saw you at the activities fair. You're that weird kid's girlfriend. What's his deal, anyway?"

He was referring to Benji, obviously, and he was completely wrong. Nora shook her quickly. "No," she said, a little horrified at his conclusion. As nice as a guy as Benji seemed to be, and even though she had to admit that he was kind of cute in his own way, he was not her type. "He's my friend's roommate. I just met him that day. I really don't know him all that well."

"Well, he's a pretty weird guy," he said.

She didn't like people dismissing Benji as weird, even though she felt compelled to agree with them. The boy was undeniably strange. However, he was growing on her and Jesse. His weirdness was oddly endearing. "We're all kinda weird. He's just a little socially awkward, I guess."

There was an awkward silence following her statement—it was all either of them had to say on the matter—and Nora broke it with: "What did you even do to your keyboard?"

"I did _nothing_ to it," he corrected, annoyed. "My asshole friend spilled beer on it."

"Yikes," she said. "Was it just on the keys, then? Because if he spilled it on the speakers or on the top, that might gotten into the major circuits and fried the motherboard and you'd might as well just buy a new one. Did you turn the power off right away?" Nora wasn't an expert on electronics or pianos, but she had dealt with similar problems at her old job.

"Yes, and yes," he answered. "I really don't want to buy a new keyboard. Fucking Bumper." He muttered that last part, but Nora caught it. She remembered Bumper clearly: the short, antagonistic leader of the Treblemakers.

"Best case scenario," she said, trying to reassure him, "all that it needed was to be opened up and cleaned. And since you turned the power off, there's probably a good chance that you saved it from a lot of damage."

He raised his eyebrows in surprise at her and leaned forward against the counter. A grin formed on his lips. "Smart and pretty. I can't believe your boss hides you in the back."

It was just playful flirtation, but she switched her gaze from him to the scratches on the glass countertop, suddenly finding them extremely interesting. She had to wonder if it was just her or if he was just like this with everyone he meets.

_Cool your jets, Nora,_ she said to herself. _He's just having fun with you. There's no way he's actually interested._

She shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "Not really. It's a no brainer that beer, or pretty much any liquid for that matter, and electronics don't mix." She added, "I also worked in a place like this for a couple years before moving here."

Donald opened his mouth to say something, but Patrick had waddled back from the workshop, carrying Donald's keyboard in a black case. He set it gently against the counter.

"Sorry about the wait," he said, rubbing the back of his head. "It's all ready. All it needed was a cleaning."

A smile tugged at Nora's lips. She caught the impressed look on Donald's face._ Called it._

After making the necessary payments—since no parts needed to be replaced, there was only a measly service charge—Donald swung the bag over his shoulder.

"I'll be seeing you around, Nora," he said as he exited the store, throwing her a wink. Not a statement, but a promise.

She rolled her eyes and headed back to the storeroom, but her lips were turned up ever so slightly, and she distantly wondered if that was necessarily a bad thing.

* * *

Nora and Jesse sat on her bed with game controllers and Chinese food later that night. In high school, they had started a weekly ritual of Saturday night take-out and video games or movies—whoever won the coin toss got to choose. It seemed only right that they continue this ritual in college.

Her roommate, Bethany, was currently out at the library. She left hurriedly once Jesse showed up, saying that she had a paper to finish, with a blush on her cheeks, probably assuming they desperately needed the privacy. Nora made a mental note to assure her that it wasn't like that and Jesse was only a friend.

He went on and on about this girl he met at his job at the radio station, WBUJ—a station that had recently become one of Nora's favorites. Beca was her name, and, according to Jesse, she had the dark and mysterious, alt-girl type personality.

"She doesn't sound like your usual type," Nora commented, wincing as her character met a bloody demise at the hands of the zombie horde.

"I feel like there's a connection," he claimed. "However, the station manager, Luke, might be my nemesis. He's got abs, tattoos and a sexy British accent."

"Yeah, he sounds pretty hot. You don't stand a chance," she joked.

"I appreciate your faith in me, but I don't need it. Once I become a Treblemaker, she'll have no choice but to fall in love with me," he explained with mock seriousness.

Nora snorted and nearly choked on her water.

"Speaking of which," he continued, "you're going to the auditions, right?"

She was hoping to avoid this conversation. She had thought about auditioning, more, had checked the Bella's Facebook for updates about the auditions. "Thought about it," she said, "and no."

Jesse dropped his controller, "What? Why not?"

"Well, for starters, I have a job and classes and no time for a club," she explained.

"I have a job, too, and I'm auditioning. And you're taking mostly gen eds this semester that offer, like, no homework."

"My mythology class is a lot of work. It's one essay every week," she corrected.

Jesse shook his head at her. "That's not the point. You're just making up excuses to not audition, because you're afraid of what happened last time. You think you're going to screw up again."

"Knowing me, I probably will," she said.

"Thinking like that doesn't help, you know." He was starting to sound annoyingly mom-like. It was getting on her nerves. "All it takes is practice."

"Practice doesn't mean much when you forget everything you know as soon as you get up on stage," she said, irritated. She watched a hoard of zombies swarm and slaughter her character, helpless to stop them. She exited to the main menu, contemplating whether to just exit the game, since she was no longer in the mood to play it. "What's the point of pursuing music if I can't even go on stage alone and play it?" Sighing, she continued, "Maybe I should just go into business or something useful. It'll make my mom loads happier."

Without a word, Jesse wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer to him. "Sorry I keep pushing you," he said.

She leaned against his side, feeling a bit better. He could be overbearing sometimes, but he gave the best hugs. "It's okay. You don't have all my stupid anxieties."

She felt him nod against the side of her head. "Don't audition if you're not comfortable, but just promise me you'll never give up music for _business._" The way he said that made her laugh. It was almost as if the possibility disgusted him greatly, even though she knew he was only, at least partially, joking.

She smiled. "I'm pretty sure business is just for the people who have _completely _given up on their dreams."

There was a tiny part of her that was thinking, maybe, for Jesse, she could give this audition thing a shot.


	3. Auditions

September 21st had arrived. She had been anxious about auditions all day, feeling simultaneously excited and extremely nervous. Each class she passed fidgeting in her chair and glancing at the clock nearly every five minutes. Her last class on Fridays, Classical Mythology, ended at three. Auditions were going to begin at five. She had enough time to shower, change, and maybe build up her confidence enough so she didn't chicken out. Maybe. She forced her mind away from the looming auditions and back to the lecture. She tapped her pencil against the blank page of her notebook as the professor droned on about Oedipus.

Fortunately for her and the rest of the students, the class ended a bit earlier; the professor was feeling a little merciful, especially since it was Friday afternoon and half the class was falling asleep in their chairs.

As Nora packed up her notebook and computer in a frenzy to get out of the lecture hall and high tail it back to her dorm, Brian, her study group partner approached her.

"Pretty boring lecture, huh?" he said, making small talk.

"Yeah," she agreed, a little taken back by his sudden appearance by her side. She slid her laptop into her bag and slung it over her shoulder. "Did you want to meet up this weekend at the library or something to work on the reports?" she asked, figuring that's what he wanted to talk about. She headed toward to exit with him falling into step beside her. They reached the outside of the building. Though it was approaching the end of September, it was still quite warm. Nevertheless, Nora liked the feeling of the afternoon sun on her skin.

He nodded. "Yeah, that sounds great. It's not due 'til next week, though."

"I guess if you wanted to get a head start…" she trailed off. She looked at the watch on her phone—there was no real rush, but it was a becoming a habit now, and she wanted to leave.

Brian picked up the conversation. "I actually wanted to ask if you were doing anything tonight. Me and some friends were going to catch a movie—we were thinking _Total Recall_ or something—if you wanted to come along."

"It sounds really fun," she began, "but maybe some other time? I have a thing tonight." She elaborated, a bit hesitantly, "A capella auditions—it sounds pretty lame, I know—" The auditions were still a maybe, but at least it gave her an excuse to not go with him. Maybe she was being vain, but something about the way Brian looked at her or eagerly waiting for her outside of class spelt something more than friendship in his mind. Not that he wasn't cute, she just wasn't interested and she liked mutual disinterest. It made things so much easier when her relationships were strictly professional.

Brian shook his head. "It's not lame. I didn't know you could sing." _Well, I really can't, unless I'm in the shower and there's no one within a 3-mile radius of me._

Reaching a split in the sidewalk, Nora said, "I'm going this way. So, I'll text you later about the report."

"Yeah," Brian said, looking a little disappointed. "Good luck with the auditions. Or, break a leg, I guess."

She thanked him with a wave and a smile and headed down the path to her dorm. As soon as she reached her room, she placed her laptop on her desk and dropped the rest of her bag unceremoniously on the floor. She rifled through her dresser, trying to find something suitable she could wear to the auditions, and maybe to the party afterward, on the off chance that she didn't completely screw up her audition or chicken out. She wondered if she had to impress those two Bellas girls with more than just her voice. Did she even have the stage presence necessary to perform at competitions? She gripped the wooden drawer, taking a few breaths to calm herself and dispel the pit in her stomach and the nagging, doubtful voice in the back of her mind. She checked the time. She still had almost two ours left before auditions.

Most of her clothes, at least according to her mother, were pretty masculine. She eventually settled on a blue and black plaid shirt and a pair of dark jeans, finally figuring if anyone dismissed her because of the way she dressed, then she didn't want to be a part of their group anyway.

She undressed and hit the showers, doing vocal warm-ups as steam filled her stall.

* * *

"For you audition, each of you will be singing sixteen bars of Kelly Clarkson's 'Since You've Been Gone'." While a few dozen anxious and hopeful students assembled in the auditorium, Tommy introduced himself as the 'administrator of all things a capella'. He held this title with austerity and lectured them on the seriousness of a capella as they filled out contact sheets. Justin, his ton-deaf assistant, handed out the excerpts of the song that they would be singing.

"This isn't a high school club," he reminded everyone. "This shit is _real life_."

Nora rolled her eyes at that, muttering a sarcastic "okay" under her breath, which did not go unnoticed by Benji, who was sitting between her and Jesse. He frowned at her briefly before returning his attention to Tommy.

"Now, don't just bring it, _sing it_, and let's get started."

She handed her contact information to Justin and followed Jesse and Benji backstage, where a line of candidates was forming. A few started to do vocal warm-ups, until Tommy poked his head behind the curtain and told them to be silent while auditions were taking place. He brought out the first person auditioning, a black girl with hair dyed bright red.

"Are you okay?" Jesse asked when he noticed her fidgeting.

"Depends," she said, "you got any benzos?"

"Not on me," he deadpanned.

"Damn. That's too bad."

"Just breathe and don't get so worked up. You'll do fine." He gave her a reassuring smile.

"Let's hope." Her eyes scanned the sheet music. Her part wasn't so bad; she only had to sing until the first chorus. She could handle that. _Probably. Maybe. _She only had to keep herself from being a nervous wreck once she got on stage.

But the closer she got to the front of the line, the larger the pit in her stomach grew. She had not even set foot on stage and she was already starting to hyperventilate. Jesse put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed, trying to push away the tension. It did nothing. She felt nauseous.

There were two people in front of Nora now. Jesse was still massaging her shoulder. She stepped out of line as the next candidate moved onto the stage.

"I have to use the bathroom," she said. Before Jesse could say anything, she turned away and fled backstage. There wasn't a bathroom, but she found refuge in a small dressing room, which had sinks, for some reason. _Maybe to wash off makeup. _She could still hear the auditions take place, though the singing was muffled and unintelligible. She thought she heard them call her name up when there was a break in the singing. Jesse didn't follow her; at least she didn't think so. Her suspicions were confirmed when the silence was filled with his voice, unmistakable, belting "Since you've been gone" with the strength and richness of a talented musical theater kid. Tears filled her eyes as she sat on the counter of the dressing room.

_You coward,_ she berated herself. _You couldn't even get up there and try._

It was too late to go back out there. Nora waited a few more minutes, trying to contain her sobs. She splashed water on her face and dried off with her sleeves. There was still water dripping from her face, and her eyes were still glossy from tears, but at least they weren't puffy and red.

She slipped out of the dressing room, and made her way to the exit as quickly and quietly as she could. As she passed the stage, where she had been waiting to audition, she saw Jesse on the other side, watching the remaining candidates. She didn't know if he saw her leave, but she hoped not. She didn't want to see the disappointment in his eyes. She went down the stairs and headed toward the front of the auditorium. Luckily, it was dark, so her chances of being seen by anyone were less likely. The Bellas (who currently consisted of only two members) and the BU Harmonics had their attention on the auditions. The High-Notes, were, as usual, high. And the Treblemakers were either heckling or screwing around with each other. As Nora walked down the isle toward the exit, her eyes fell on Donald. He looked up as she passed, brows furrowed in confusion. She turned her gaze away, towards the ground, so he wouldn't see that she had been crying—she felt ashamed enough as it was—and walked swiftly through the exit doors.

She got to her dorm room as fast as she could and collapsed on the bed. Bethany was there. She asked Nora how the auditions went.

"I didn't cut it," Nora lied. It was better than saying she chickened out and ran out of the auditorium.


	4. Zippy's

Jesse sent her another text, which Nora ignored. She disappointed him, and she didn't feel like listening to him asking what the hell happened at auditions and him subsequently chewing her out about it. The way he acted reminded her of her dad sometimes and it was really annoying, even though she knew he was just looking after her.

Auditions were the last thing she wanted to think about. She was angry and ashamed that she had ran out like that, but part of her was also relieved that she didn't actually go out and sing. She would have definitely choked, and that would have led to even more embarrassment than simply sneaking out the back.

Patrick had her working on Saturday night, which was mildly irritating, since it was Saturday night and there were a dozen other things she'd like to do (like sleep, play video games, watch TV, etc.). On the plus side, she had graduated from restocking shelves to working the front of the store (courtesy of Derek's schmoozing, probably). While inventory related duties were still her job description, she was allowed to interact with customers when they presented more challenging questions about the instruments and their accessories.

Clark Street Music Co. technically closed at 7:30, but on Saturdays, they needed to take inventory, file documents and receipts, lock up some of the display instruments, and organize everything for Monday, since the store wasn't open on Sundays.

"That's everything," Nora said, walking up to the front counter. She had just completed a sweep of the store, making sure everything was in tiptop order.

Derek was sorting through repair receipts near the register. Patrick had gone home over an hour ago and left closing to the two of them. Nora didn't mind. Derek was pretty cool, and knew a lot more about this business than Patrick. Derek looked up from the receipts, and said, "Good job. I'll lock up. You head home."

"You sure?" she asked.

The dark haired man nodded. "Yeah. It's Saturday; don't you have parties to go to or something?"

It was about 9 o'clock when she left the music store. The area around it was still active—many people, not just college students, were leaving restaurants, going into bars, closing shops—so she wasn't too nervous about walking back to the dorm by herself. It was beginning to get a little cooler at night, a welcome change from the sticky, hot days.

She looked up at the sky. It was black as tar, with almost no glimmering stars to be seen. Only the brightest were struggling to be faintly visible. Of course being in a big city, it was impossible to properly stargaze.

"Hey, Nora."

The voice startled her. She spun around to look for the source of the voice.

"Donald?" she said, as her eyes landed on the beatboxer. She didn't think he'd remember her name.

"What's up?" he asked, greeting her like they were friends. Were they friends? She's only spoken to him on one occasion, and it seemed like he wanted to do that again from what she could recall.

She shrugged her shoulders. "Not much. I just got off work. What are you doing here?"

"I'm getting dinner," he answered. "There's a place down here that makes the best burritos in Atlanta. Want to join me?"

His invitation caught her off guard. _How random is that?_ "Why?" she asked. She wasn't meaning to; the question just slipped out, and now she felt a little weird.

He shrugged, like it was normal to randomly invite almost-strangers to eat with him. "Why not? Are you hungry?"

"Yeah, but I have food in my room," she explained.

"Ramen?"

"Don't knock ramen. That's some good stuff."

Donald made an exaggerated look of disgust. Nora rolled her eyes at him. "You must not get creative with you're instant soups, then."

"I guess not. But if you'd really rather eat ramen alone in your room than eat the best burrito you'll ever have with me"—he placed a hand on his chest for added emphasis and gusto—"that's fine."

"I don't even know you."

"Sure you do," he said. "My name is Donald, and I'm a Treblemaker, the sexy one, but don't tell Bumper that. We talked that one time in the music store. I promise I'm not a murderer."

"Well, that's a relief," she said, her lips curving into a small smile. It vanished in less than a second. She bit her lip. Dare she ask? She wouldn't want to make things awkward, or let her insecurities apparent. "Why me? Surely there are other girls who would like to get burritos with you." _I'm clearly a nobody, a freshman, and he's clearly a somebody._

"Yeah, probably," he said, plainly. _So modest._ "But I'm asking you, because you're here and you're pretty. And it's a burrito, not a marriage proposal."

She felt her cheeks heat up at his compliment. Part of her was a little tempted to turn him down, but then she remembered how her mother was always lecturing her about getting out there and making friends. And right now, her list of friends at Barden was dismally short. "As long as marriage isn't on your mind…"

Donald grinned and they began to walk toward the burrito restaurant.

"With a girl like you, all in due time. Probably after burrito number three."

She shook her head. She didn't bother hiding her smile this time. "You're too much."

He threw her a lopsided smirk. "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?" Maybe it was her imagination, but his dark eyes seemed to sparkle mischievously under the streetlights. Nora kind of liked it.

_Bad thing, definitely a bad thing_, her brain screamed at her. She silenced the warning bells going off in her head. "I'll let you know when I figure that out," she said, almost coyly.

Zippy's was the name of the "best burrito place ever" (according to Donald). It looked like a typical greasy diner. On the way there, Nora and Donald made normal small talk.

("So a freshman?"

"I thought that was obvious."

"Just checking. How are you liking Barden?"

"It's nice.")

Donald asked her where she was from (Berwyn, Illinois, a suburb of Chicago), what she was studying (music), what she liked to listen to in terms of music genres (rock, punk, R&B, electronica, pop, all sorts of stuff really), and her favorite color (she had two: blue and orange). She asked him the same questions. He was from Miami, he was also studying music, he liked R&B and hip-hop, mostly, and his favorite color was red—Treble red, he called it, after the color of the shirts the Trebles wear when they perform.

"What do you want to do with music?" he asked after swallowing a huge chunk of burrito. Nora had yet to touch hers. To her, it seemed a little sketchy, and the refried beans looked a little weird. But Donald seemed perfectly content to inhale his burrito, so she took a tentative bite before answering. _Not bad, actually._

"I don't know," she replied. "Maybe music education or something. What about you?"

"Entertainment and production. I like performing and writing songs."

"Really?" she asked, surprised. "That's really cool. I've thought about being a professional musician, but I don't think that's for me."

"Why not?"

She shrugged and put down her burrito. "I don't know, I guess…" She paused, trying to find the right words. Admitting her stage fright to a quasi-stranger was too embarrassing, and she wasn't quick enough on her feet to properly bullshit a reason. "I feel like professional musicians have all this pressure on them to find and please their fans. Like, to be successful, you really have to be able to predict the climate and figure what's going to be popular and what people are going to like. I don't want to deal with that."

"Sorry, but I think that's bullshit," Donald said. "No offense, but you have a warped view of what motivates artists, well a lot of artists—I can't speak for all of them. I write music for myself, not anyone else. When I write a song, first of all, I want it to be something I can be proud of. If it sells, that's awesome. If people don't like it, well obviously, they have no taste and don't know good music if it bit them in the ass."

He flashed a grin and Nora cracked a small smile in return.

"Success doesn't have to be monetary, you know? Follow your dreams and you'll be happy and all that shit."

"That was pretty cliché," she commented, "but kinda inspirational."

"What can I say? I'm up there with Gandhi."

She mulled over the conversation. Everything he had just said was what she had always wanted to tell her mother but could never find the strength or words to do it. One time, when she had told her mom her dream of being a professional musician, her mother laughed. When she regained composure and realized her daughter was serious, she basically told Nora that she had to be incredibly good, and even then, she'd probably only have a one in a million chance of being successful. It was okay to enjoy music as a hobby, but she should invest her time in something more practical and reliable. Nora wanted to tell her mother to look at half the pop acts that were famous, and ask her if she believed her daughter could never be better than them, but the conversation was over before she had the chance to argue back. Nora had skill and training in voice and violin, but everything her mom had just said slashed her confidence to shreds. If her mother didn't believe in her, why should she? She loved music too much to quit it, so she was looking for a career path that could keep her playing and make her mom happy.

"I saw you at the acapella auditions yesterday," Donald said suddenly, breaking her out of her thoughts. "But I don't remember you singing." There was a unspoken _What's up with that? _tacked on to his statement, and Nora inwardly cringed. This was something she wanted to push from her memory.

She turned her gaze back to her burrito. "Yeah, something came up and I had to leave," she said.

He could tell her excuse was bullshit, but didn't press it. Instead, he said, "Well, the Bellas still need more singers, if you were still interested."

Nora looked up at him, confused. "I thought they got everyone they needed from auditions."

"They did, but a couple girls were kicked out." The thought of that made him smirk a little.

"Are you serious?" she asked.

"Yeah, it was about some stupid rules they have," he said, shrugging.

Now she was thinking whether or not getting in would have been a good thing if she had auditioned, if their rules were so strict that two girls were already kicked out because of them. Donald wasn't making a good case for them if he was suggesting that she should join.

"Why are you even telling me this?" she asked. "Aren't the Bellas and Trebles, like, sworn enemies or something?" She did a little more research before the auditions and found out about the Bella-Treble rivalry. (Apparently, all members of the Treblemakers were banned from the Bellas' Facebook page for spamming.)

"I wouldn't call it _that_," he said. "We just beat them in the ICAA's six times in a row, but it's all in good fun." He didn't try to play it off as no big deal, or bother hiding his smug smile. "In all seriousness, if you want to join, you should join."

"Yeah, maybe. I'll think about it," she said.

The conversation went from mildly serious (in Nora's opinion) to casual, joking banter. They went back to talking about the things they liked, movies, books, etc. It was as if they were already best friends. Talking to Donald was easy, almost like talking to Jesse, but there was something in the way they talked that was so fundamentally different and she couldn't pinpoint exactly what it was—like some underlying meaning in his words or hidden subtext in his sentences, or something along those lines. All she knew was that she liked talking to him and wanted to keep talking to him. Whatever it was was keeping her glued to the plastic chair in Zippy's Diner as he told her a story about how he and Bumper used to prank each other when they were roommates during their freshman year (that was how they first met).

"I put a mannequin in his bed while he was sleeping once. I painted the Exorcist face on it, you know? He woke up with it next to him and started screaming. It was hilarious." He was laughing at the memory and Nora was grinning widely, imagining a scared Bumper. "To get me back, though, he put chili powder in my underwear—Don't laugh! That shit was painful."

Her face was a mix of shock and laughter. She covered her mouth to contain her giggles. She didn't know why it was funny, it just was. "I'm sorry," she said. She was done laughing at him, but there was no hiding the amused smile on her face.

He frowned and grumbled, "Sadist."

She mustered up the most apologetic look she could and asked, "Did you get him back for that?"

His frown was gone, replaced immediately by a smirk. He recounted how he put itching powder in Bumper's sheets and would continually steal his condoms.

"He'd bring a girl back. They'd try to get busy, but it would only go so far before he needed a condom and couldn't find one. Also, when he'd leave his wallet out, I'd take the condom out of there and replace it with a ketchup packet. Every time he sat down, _splat! _All inside his wallet and all over his ass. Eventually he caught on and he started checking his wallet before he left the room."

"Remind me never to prank you," she said when he finished.

He leaned back in the chair, characteristic Donald smirk on his face. "I am the King of all pranks."

She was about to tell him about the pranks she and Jesse used to pull on each other and their high school drama club, but Donald's phone rang. Sighing, he pulled it out to read a text.

"Sorry, that was Bumper. He was wondering where I am."

"Do you guys have plans or something tonight?" she asked.

"Yeah. Delta Chi is having a party. Bumper wants us to make an appearance." By _us_, she assumed the Trebles. "You want to come?"

He surprised her with another invitation. She was simultaneously shocked and flattered that he apparently liked her enough that he wanted to keep hanging out with her tonight. It was tempting to say yes—she really wanted to say yes—and to keep hanging out with Donald, but the more logical part of her brain warned her against going to a party alone with a guy she only had one and a half conversations with. She wouldn't know anyone else at the party, and her shy-with-strangers side would force her to stay on the outskirts or hang around Donald the entire time, which, as she could imagine, would annoy him and he'd think she was creepy or clingy or something.

She looked over at the clock in the diner. It was quarter 'til 11. They had been talking for almost two hours.

"I'm kind of tired from work," she said. Partly true. "And I _really _need a shower." Definitely true. "So…how about a rain check?"

He seemed satisfied with that. "Let me see your phone real quick."

She obliged and watched as he typed his name and number in to her contacts list. When he was done, he handed it back and she could hardly contain the smile on her face.

"Can walk you back to your dorm?"

She nodded, happy that she'd get a few more minutes with him.

When she got back to her room, Bethany looked over at her from the bed, asking where she had been. Her question went unnoticed as Nora looked down at her phone, her smile growing a little wider. Donald had put a period in front of his name so that it appeared at the very top of the list.


End file.
